Epitafium
by Mistress Moitie
Summary: In a world of grave danger cursed by the Goddesses themselves, a fallen hero must fight to save his very soul. Literally. OoT AU Dark Souls lore inspired. Link x Male Sheik. Violence, romance, tragedy, angst, supernatural fantasy.
1. Fountainhead

**Genre: **it's going to be a bumpy ride, folks.

**Status: **In-progess, multi-chapter

**Rating: **M for Mature

**Pairing: **Link/Sheik (YAOI)

**Author's Notes:**

This is what happens when I mix Legend of Zelda and Dark Souls, while listening to Woodkid.

I have not posted this under crossovers because it isn't really. This doesn't follow any game in particular so I guess it would be considered AU, although it's based on a different iteration of Ocarina of Time. I was inspired by the lore of Dark Souls and decided it fit nicely with the kind of story I am trying to tell. You don't need to have played or know anything about it to understand the plot, and the characters and most locations are purely LoZ. What you will see are ideas, artistic liberties, and what I hope to be a pretty awesome fusion which leads to happy readers. :)

Oh, and no Sheik gender talk, please. He is male here and a separate character from Zelda entirely aaand yes I have played OoT. Many times.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Legend of Zelda or Dark Souls. I make no money off of this, however this story and anything original came from alcohol-induced nights inside my own head.

Please enjoy!

* * *

**_Epitafium_**

* * *

There is a place, far beyond where many of us go. A place where legends live and breathe; where heroes, princesses, and evil kings are born and die throughout its passage of time.

You may have heard of Hyrule, its glistening fields of fairytale. Where good conquers evil.. where there is no grey - you either fight for the Goddesses, or perish by the blade of their creation.

This story isn't about that Hyrule.

This story begins in a small clearing of no importance. There is no light falling from the sky onto the leafless trees in this forsaken forest. The fairies have long gone. The air is still and smells heavy of death; and what were once the children of this place are now forever entombed in the rotten branches that twist this way and that from the earth.

And in the distance a campfire is lit near a murky swamp; a lone figure seated beside it on a large rock. His body is weary and moves not, his head resting in his hands, deep in thought. The armor he wears has been cast aside, his form freed of the heavy weight he must carry, for a time. A hood covers most of his face, and only lips - once gentle and soft, now hardened and in a permanent frown - are visible in the firelight. His sword is not far away, its hilt a mere centimeters from his grasp. Even while resting he must be on guard, for the unseen is sometimes more terrifying than the creatures that he can hear stepping, just now, through the tall grass.

His blue eyes peer to the left, and Link rises slowly as the pack of hungry, decaying Wolfos creep closer. He makes no sound as he grabs his sword, and unafraid, he heads toward them. He takes one out as another jumps onto his chest, its teeth burying into the fabric of his tunic. Blood drips downward as he rips the beast from his form with his right hand, and he finishes that one off too before clutching the wounded area. He curses under his breath and spots two more Wolfos coming his way, which he lances with the tip of his sword, skewering the foul creatures until they move no more.

Their blood is black as he studies his blade before wiping it against the tall, dead grass. He clutches his chest again, the bleeding having ceased none, and he notices his vision swaying.. the moon beneath the darkened clouds dimming and flickering in the distance. Link feels he may pass out. His knees give way and he falls to them on the moistened ground, his left hand reaching out to steady himself.

"Goddesses," he murmurs to the sky, "why have you failed me?" And after those last words, he succumbs to the horizontal plane, body limp and bloodied. The sky feels so far away now, he thinks to himself, as he reaches a hand to the stars. He thinks he may have seen a glimmer just then, perhaps a goddess in the sky taking pity on him. He scowls as he realizes its absurdity, for no one would pity a fallen hero.

* * *

Link was born about twenty-five years ago, but he can only remember maybe twenty of them clearly. He remembers not the location or to whom he was born from, only that he was alone in this world. His earliest memory is that of the Temple of Time and its clerics, and one most importantly named Hildie who supplied him food, a bed, and the basics of human interaction. She gave him a shortsword at the age of ten, telling him not to kill himself with it. She would have trained him in magics, she said, but decided against it when Link took a liking to the dark arts rather than miracles like healing or protection. Pyromancy, he found, was very pretty when added to the tip of an arrow.

The first day he was allowed outside was during the last month of his ten years. He was instructed to hide behind Hildie and another named Geralt, as they ran to the market for food. The clearest thing he remembers from that occasion was passing by a burning cart, five ReDead and screaming children. By the time he and his guardians had retrieved whatever food was left in the destroyed shops, the screaming had stopped and that was the first time Link learned about death. Geralt was bitten through his calf on the way as well, and his moaning could be heard throughout the halls of the temple until that too, ended not long after. He was never seen again. Hildie cried and the rest of the clerics prayed and prayed, while Link sat in the back saying to himself, 'I will never end up like Geralt. I will survive.'

He learned that the world was a scary place, that monsters were everywhere and people died, a lot. He learned that the Goddesses - Din, Nayru, and Farore - beings who were once worshipped were responsible for the destruction of Hyrule. That they were angry and unleashed a terrible power. The sages too, the sages were now creatures of the most powerful darkness and if one were to encounter them, it would surely mean death. There was no way, he was told, to banish them or to kill them. And to attempt it, would mean traversing inside their hollowed temples and dungeons where they locked themselves away, which no man has ever entered and survived.

So all who were left alive lived in fear, because there were more monsters out there than people. Good people.

Near his thirteenth year, the Temple of Time was invaded by a horde of Moblins. Moblins were once people, said to be experimented upon by the royal family and turned into terrible creatures that now resemble grotesque ogres. Relentless and stupid, they are, with no concept anymore for human life. Hundreds of them rushed through the halls, and many clerics died. Link ran through the corridors with his battered shortsword, slicing the Moblins in half. That was the first time he felt blood upon his skin. He stopped for a moment in the chaos, transfixed by it. How blood could be such an unnatural color.. he wondered if all blood looked the same.

He heard Hildie crying from somewhere in the distance, and Link ran to her, as fast as his feet could carry him. Torches were thrown through the broken windows that had caught fire to the tapestries and wooden beams. He found her lying then on the marbled ground, and he killed the Moblins surrounding her that had been eating her alive. With all the strength she had remaining, she reached up to Link's face and touched his cheek. 'Go, Link,' she said, 'get out of here. You have to.. you have to stop all this death.' And with her last breath she cried, 'take this!' and handed him an elaborate key. He held her in his arms as she yelled, a terrible yell, and he watched the life pass from her eyes as she left the world most painfully.

He touched her lips and her blood there coated his fingertips, and he rubbed the liquid between them, smearing it into his hand. He looked at it, and felt a surge of anger like no other, and with this anger he killed every Moblin remaining.

Everyone was dead.

With the temple burning from the inside out, he raced through the passageways using the key he received on every chest, every door. A particularly dry wooden chest sparked from the flames and then exploded, knocking Link into a wall and onto the ground forcibly. He winced at the sudden pain he felt, his tiny body cracking from the impact. He stood, growling, and limped onward, until he found a ladder leading down. He followed this into the damp basement, where he found an old but decorative chest hidden underneath a pile of beaten up helms and spears. They key worked and inside the chest was a large sword, a shield, a bottle with something inside, and a compass. He was too delirious to care about what any of it meant, and he scooped it all up into his arms and took off running.

It was there, in a corner of the darkened basement of the Temple of Time, that Link sat huddled, shaking. It was there that he gained his courage. It was there that he discovered his destiny.

He barely survived into his late teens. Food was scarce outside of the market that he had known for his short time on this earth. Into the fields, it was a barren wasteland and undead skeletons roamed the perpetual night. He took comfort at a ranch he discovered in the center of it all, where he was taken in for a time by its owner Talon and his daughter, Malon, a girl with the brightest red hair and sunny disposition. Here, until about sixteen, he helped refine and imbue weapons, even forging some by Talon's side. Malon would bring Link whiskey-spiked milk in secret, which he enjoyed and made the time pass by quickly. They became quick friends (even though she did most of the talking) and spent every moment together that Link had to himself. He would practice with heavier weapons and the great sword he retrieved from the temple years ago under the moonlight, slashing at large logs Malon would set up for him around the sparce pasture. She would cheer him on, clapping and teasing him about his forming physique.

Almost a year later they ended up sleeping together in the barn, with Malon confessing her love for him afterwards in post-orgasmic sobs. He felt nothing.. and he apologized for his battered heart. 'I don't know how to love,' he whispered to her, holding her close. 'You're afraid to love,' she replied into his ear, 'come back to me when you've grown up.'

And on a night almost six months later, an armored giant with a cape made of tapestries from Hyrule Castle stormed the ranch's gates, followed by a swarm of flaming Keese. The rain pouring down from the sky did little to extinguish the bat's flaming bodies, and they swooped and set fire to the hay in the barn, setting it ablaze. Talon ran out with Malon not far behind, and in a very unwise decision, he stood before the giant with his arms spread wide, yelling brave insults to the creature who could understand it none. Link ran to the father, 'Get out of the way!' he screamed. He tried to shove Talon to the side, but to no avail. The large iron hammer came down swiftly, and under it Talon's broken form lay cemented in the wet earth; crumpled and twitching. Malon cried and ran to his battered body, falling beside him, but Link quickly caught her and held her in his arms. From between the wet golden locks that stuck to forehead and cheeks, his eyes pleaded with her.

He shook her. 'Run,' he said.

She mouthed what looked like no, and aloud she said, 'Take me with you!'. He had no time to respond as the giant swung at them, and with the girl in his arms, Link jumped to the side and rolled to the ground. The rage in his face then as he stood, sword brandished, was like no other. He swung at the massive beast, sliced at its weakest point near an unarmored joint on the legs. He hacked away at the flesh exposed there, his sword finally slicing through bone; severing the limb in two. The giant fell to the other leg, and Link continued the assault until his enemy had no legs to stand on. He ran to it and grabbed the massive helm covering the giant's face, and he lifted the front plate. Link looked the beast in the eyes, and lifted his sword high, then in a downward thrust he sent the blade through its skull.

On the last remaining horse, he placed Malon atop it, and told her to ride to the south - far away from Hyrule Castle. 'How far?' she asked. She grabbed for his hand. 'As far as you can go,' he replied. Her fingers brushed his own, come hither touches, begging. 'Come with me?' she pleaded. He sighed, saddened. 'I can't save everyone, Malon.' She shook her head ferociously. 'But you saved me!" she cried. He grasped her hands now with both of his own, and he looked sternly into her eyes. 'No. Don't ever, ever think you're safe.'

And with that he urged the horse to move, and it took off quickly to the field. Emblazoned in his memory is Malon's face, looking back at him as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance, her red hair like fire dancing around her head in the wind. He felt a strange sense of relief as she disappeared over the hills, for he knew he could never give her what she wanted.

He lived alone until his nineteenth year, making a living off bounty boards placed throughout small retreats set up across the land. Sometimes he'd make rupees for escorting caravans into somewhat safer areas, other times he'd receive food for protecting a family for the night from wild beasts. He honed his skills with archery and continued to attune pyromancy or even poison to the tips, firing off at enemies from great distances. He became known as Flame Wielder by some, and it would be a lie to think most weren't a bit terrified of him. With his golden messy hair and handsome brows, icy blue eyes, and moonlight skin due to the consistent darkened skies, he was like an angel to some, and maybe a demon to others. Many probably couldn't even recall his name, because he told it to hardly anyone. Yet he never harmed the undeserving - and that is probably why most would opt to stay on his good side.

It was near the dried up basin of Lake Hylia that he came across a large collection of books and texts in an abandoned building that someone had left in a hurry. Other than giant spiders feeding outside, he saw no other threats in the area, and he decided to stay for a while. Here he made a home in solitude and did his best at reading about the goddesses and sages of Hyrule. His finger followed every word, and he mouthed out most he didn't know for practice. He discovered the locations of all the temples and learned every name, their powers, their weaknesses. He plotted out a map and made a list of them all and how he was going to destroy them. He kept it there, on the desk, and he became obsessed with it - it accompanied his every thought, every dream. He saw Hildie's ripped apart flesh and heard her screams in his mind.. he thought of Malon, her father's mutilated body in the dirt, he thought of every person he had met in his life so far, and vowed to avenge or protect them.

It consumed him, and because of it, he became stronger, wilder.

At twenty-two he packed up what he could and headed east, for a long trek to the hidden forests. The Forest Temple beckoned him. Along the way he fought many strong foes, one in particular with leaves as sharp as blades that nearly took his left eye. With no protection during the long nights, he hardly slept, and with practically nothing to eat, he thought sometimes he may starve. Each day became longer as he moved slower, famished. But he killed and killed anything that came across his path.

It was through the overgrown paths in what was once Kokiri Forest, that he slayed a human being. The armored knight rushed at him through the thorny trees yelling, mace extended, crazed. Link brought up his shield as the man pounded away, the morning star tip making small dents all across the adorned metal. 'I'm human!' Link had yelled, and he had Link almost to the ground, shield still up, blocking his head now from the attacks. His right arm felt as if it would give way at any moment, so he thrust his sword from beneath him and up. It jabbed into the knight's groin, and the man dropped his mace, stumbling backwards. 'Monster!' the man had yelled, and Link remained guarded, terrified yet stoic. How quick death is for some, he watched as the man stumbled to the ground, silent. He removed the man's helm and looked at the face underneath. His skin was rotted, purple and gray.

What is human, anymore.. he thought. If that is human, what am I?

He spent days wandering the forest, delusional, muttering. And that is when he ended up near a tiny swamp with a campfire and nothing to him but armor, flesh, and bones. With the Wolfos' corpses beside him as he lay defeated on the earth, he speaks aloud with weighted breath.

"I will make you pay," he says, and he looks at his own blood pooling on his chest - red, like fire, a beating heart, a scarlet promise.

* * *

There is a sacred place inside what used to be the Zora people's place of refuge, where the water still runs clear from some unknown source. It is here that the Company of Shadow reside within an arched temple named the Shrine of Nayru. Long ago the Sheikah, a tribe of agile warriors gave their very souls to the Royal Family of Hyrule, offering them their protection and guidance. Few remain to this day, but those that have hidden from the dangers of the outside world maintain an optimistic view of the Goddesses, even in such times. They vow to bring justice and honor back to the Royal Family's name, and clear the tainted thoughts of the supreme deities and sages. This isn't to say they are always good, for they will not spare the life of one who bears ill intent - intent against their beliefs. And those that they do kill, the very soul of the victim, is offered to the three Goddesses, just as the Sheikah's souls were offered, ages ago.

A young male Sheikah in his mid-twenties stares at the lifelike statue of Nayru in front of him. He speaks none, his carmine colored eyes intent on the figure. He stands, stretching, taking his slightly long blonde hair into his hands, twisting three pieces together in a messy braid. Sheik, as he is called, is pretty but strong, with equal parts delicate features and masculine form. His one downfall may be his height, or possibly his lack of empathy, depending on who you ask.

Back when he was a child, he would run with a dagger in his hand through the fields, slaying the skeletons most would cower in fear from. He never gave it a second thought. His mother, Impa, would tell him to fight only those who are deserving of it, but he felt as they staggered towards him with fire in their eyes, that they were. One day, a group of men attacked the Company, killing a Sheikah woman, and Sheik rushed upon them, slicing their necks from behind with a bent scimitar. He proudly offered their souls to Nayru that very night. 'I hate men,' he had said to Impa then, and she raised her eyebrows questioningly. 'Do you? And what of women?' she asked. Sheik had shrugged and responded in his lyrical voice, 'I have only seen men display unloyalties.'

His childish affirmation was up for debate however when the Company was asked to offer healing miracles, Sheikah made weaponry, and other goods for travelers passing through the Shrine. As he stood alongside his brethren as a teen, a young Hylian female made eye contact with him, and proceeded to strike up conversation. She could only see his eyes, for half of his face was covered with a white cowl, but nevertheless she stared mesmerized by the ruby-like irises set behind long lashes. Turned out this girl held a title of some importance and Sheik was made to entertain her throughout the night. When she pulled down his cowl and kissed his lips, drunk off a Sheikah made wine, it made his stomach crawl. When asked what was wrong he simply replied, 'I don't like you,' and when asked why he stated, 'I don't like people.'

One such role a Sheikah must also provide is guidance and their skill in combat to warriors passing through Hyrule. Once one of their white wrappings from their armor was unwoven and tied on a tree branch or fastened to a passageway or the like, anyone with equal fighting proficiency who found it would be able to summon said Sheikah to their side. One of Sheik's best friends died that way, assisting a Hylian warrior through the scalding desert wasteland. Days, weeks, months passed without a sign of a her and the body was never found.

Closure never came.

He became closed off, and when heretics invaded the Shrine bent on destroying the goddesses and the sages, he slayed them all. Every last one of them. His family and other members of the Company stood back shaken, some in awe and others in fear at the raw power Sheik was able to manifest. But through what? Hatred? Physical weapons weren't enough anymore, so he began learning and practicing hexes, his favorite being a dark fog that would let him disappear from sight and leave the area clouded in poisonous fumes.

Consumed with thoughts of bringing justice to the unloyal, he decided the only way to cleanse this earth was to obtain every soul that deserved purging. These he would offer to the Goddesses, so their strength may be rekindled and the darkness would lift from the land.

To Nayru he prayed, and through her voice she explained to him the souls he must collect. Small ones from lesser beings, larger ones from men. Giant souls from the temple guardians, and lastly, the soul from an unknown hero. 'Give them to me,' she cooed. And Sheik bowed gracefully before her stone likeness. 'Yes, my Goddess. It shall be done.'

When the red-headed Hylian girl came pounding through the Shrine's passageway on horseback, the Company lifted their spears, blocking her entrance. She looked unwell - hair matted and skin a deathly pallor. As she dislodged herself from the saddle, the horse gave way, obviously dehydrated and starving. She quickly knelt beside her companion, and glared up to face those who blocked her path. 'I am just a young girl. My family is dead. It is only me that comes this way,' she said, then motioned to her poor steed, 'and my equine friend.'

Sheik watched from a distance as the leader of the Company of Shadows came forth, and he listened with trained ears to the conversation. Once she was determined no threat and allowed to continue through, Sheik made his way to her, curiously.

He had overheard her speak of the terrible incident at the ranch at whence she came from, how her father had been brutally smashed to a pulp under a giant's hammer. 'How did you manage to escape?' he asked her and she glanced at him, looking him over thoughtfully. She searched his eyes. 'I had help,' she answered quietly. And so she told him animatedly of the roguish Hylian with sand-colored hair, and how he led her to safety. 'What was his name?' Sheik had asked, and she pondered for a while. 'You know,' she answered after a moment, 'he never told me.'

So it is front of the statue of Nayru that Sheik had been since his discussion with the ranch girl, and for a long while he had sat there.. with a nagging suspicion and a plan brewing in his brain.

"Nayru," he begins quietly, "I set forth tomorrow to finish the task you have given to me."

A soft sigh echoes through the air, a voice barely audible. "How do you intend to slay so many powerful and wicked souls.. all by yourself?"

Sheik bows his head. "With help," he trails, "from an unknown hero."


	2. Exordium

Hi there and welcome to chapter 2. I apologize for the wait! I hope you all enjoy what's here and I really can't wait to hear your thoughts.  
I'll be updating this and Time - Part III as regularly as I can, so there's a little bit for everyone's tastes.  
Thanks to all who have added this to their favorites, followed, reviewed, etc. Please keep in touch because it keeps me motivated and makes me super happy.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

His eyes flutter open to a canopy of twisted trees, the view rocking slowly back and forth. His body, he notices, is limp and his arms have fallen back, dangling in the air. He tilts his head to the right and notices the figure carrying him, one not of much stature but armed in weathered iron - the breastplate piercing into his side - and a face covered by an antiqued helm with nothing but a narrow slit for eyes. There is dried blood on the shoulder plates, and a strange black ooze creeping up through the chainmail underneath.

Link grunts softly and tries to move, but the figure tightens its grip around him as it continues its trek through the forest. His eyes open wide as he realizes he has not the strength for escape.

"Don't move," it says, a soft, muffled voice from beneath the metal.

His form tightens, apprehensive. "I couldn't if I tried," he answers.

The heavy boots of the figure slosh through the swamp like terrain, stepping deeply but carefully through the murkiness as if something were to come out and tangle itself around the ankles. In the distance, Link spots a small hut, lit by a torch on its perimeter, flickering like a beacon in the dismal horizon. He figures he is either to be killed, eaten, or to be saved and fed. He hopes for the latter.

Finally he is placed to the ground, and his legs give way, betraying him as his knees pummel to the ground below. The figure comes under him and lifts his left arm around its shoulder.

"Walk," it commands, and it begins to move, supporting Link onward. Stepping up to the doorway, the figure pushes the entrance open and balances him inside, setting him down beside a fireplace and a pot of boiling something. There is not much here besides a table in the center, a few chairs and blankets toward the other corner, and the scent inside this place is reminiscent of moldy earth and extinguished candles. It is quiet except for the crackles of flames, the occassional rustle of something unseen outside in the forest. A dead body lay across from him, slightly decayed, its smell unpleasant. It has been taken care of even after its passing, propped up against some pillows, eyelids closed from the world.

"He was not so fortunate, I take it," Link observes aloud, his cautious eyes glancing to the figure near the fireplace and back to the lifeless form beside him.

The figure walks away from him, fingertips trailing along the slightly dusty surface of the table. "Not all who wander here are men," the figure says, and its helm is then removed, and beneath it spills a long ponytail of chestnut. The female face turns to him, looking disdainfully, amber colored eyes watching, ridiculing. There is a slight hatred there, behind the irises, distrusting. The expression then changes, softness being swept over her features.

"I suppose not," Link says, eyebrows raised. "My apologies." He coughs and then winces in pain, as the wound on his chest reopens. He brings his palm to it, and there his blood lingers.. _there is always blood on these hands_, he thinks, _but it is rare that it is my own_.

The girl rushes toward him and kneels beside him. With a clean cloth she gestures to him, "You must take this off," she says hurriedly, and begins to unfasten the many belts across his tunic. She fumbles, not knowing where to start.

He dismisses her gently with a wave of his hand, "Let me do it," he says, and hissing through his teeth from the injury, he takes the first buckle on his chest and unfastens it. He removes two belts total from across his body, one for his quiver and the other for his sheath. They fall to the ground behind him. He lifts the hooded cloak from over his head, and lets it tumble from his shoulders. The tunic next, he takes from its hem and pulls up, but as his arms reach up, another jolt of pain races down from his shoulder to the wound on his chest. The girl reaches for him and gives him a most serious look, and he relinquishes as he lets her tug the fabric up over his head. The chainmail she addresses as well, trying ever so gently to remove it without hindrance.

She stares at him, shirtless, exposed. "You're not what I was expecting," she states softly. Her eyes roam his form, the red liquid glistening off his pectoral, delicious almost like strawberry jelly. She reaches out to touch it, finger pressing through to warm skin underneath. He wonders if she may taste it.

He glances at her, through long lashes, the pain from her touch somewhere in between excruciating and pleasant. "I'm bleeding," he reminds her, "quite a bit, if I might add."

"Oh!" she exclaims, quickly removing her finger and presses the clean cloth to his chest. "Hold this," she says before running to a drawer on the other side of the room. As she returns with healing ointments, flasks of potions, and begins to dress the wound, Link notices something very odd about her hand. Darkened is the skin upon it, rotten and no longer alive. The potions she uses works quickly, and relief swells upon him.

"My sister," the girl begins as she continues tending to his wound, "she would have wanted me to help you. You see, she was a very kind girl. She was slain, just the other day, her soul stolen from her. I have never seen a light fade so quickly.. her eyes, so dark.. her skin.. decaying in moments before me!" She speaks very quickly, almost crazed as she finishes his sutures. "I could not leave her there near the temple! I'm all alone now. What do I do? I'm going to die." The last stitch she pulls tightly, causing Link to wince as she ties the knot. "Those monsters in the woods.." _snip_ from the dagger as she cuts the thread, "they're going to pay. I will take all their souls and make them rot in hell!" And she begins crying, the dagger falling to the floor.

Link quietly takes the dagger and tucks it beneath his left leg. "What is your name?" he asks softly.

She lifts her head not, but speaks to the ground, tears falling in little droplets to the stone. "Celadore," she answers.

"Celadore," he repeats, "thank you."

She sniffles.

"Celadore," he says again, "you mentioned a temple, did you not?"

She shakes her head, not wanting to comply.

"If you show me the way, I will help you avenge your sister's life."

She looks at him not. "You.. trust me?" she asks. Her eyes search for the dagger she thought she had placed on the ground beside her.

Link finds said weapon beneath his thigh, and brings it out slowly, nearing her face. Pointing it towards her, the crooked tip aiming between both her eyes. "Looking for this?" he remarks.

"Your eyes are too kind to use it," she says, studying.

"You know nothing of what I've seen," he replies.

She stands slowly. "I could say the same to you."

* * *

Lilith, Celadore's sister had yelled as the pair ran through the tangled sanctuary, cuts adorning her cheeks from the thorned fingers of the branches. Behind them Wolfos snarled and jumped at their backs, about five or six tailing them as a pack.

The white wrapping dangled in her grasp, and she knelt amidst the stones and dead grass and focused her mind. "Help us, those of the shadow," she willed aloud, and Celadore braced herself against her sister's back, braced herself for the onslaught that she saw snarling, running toward them, teeth bared and salivating.

It had only taken a moment or two - the white wrapping disappearing from Lilith's hands and a white fog replaced it - one which grew larger and larger until it stood and took the shape of a person. The figure materialized completely and bowed elegantly, and the summoned one from the Company of Shadows then spoke aloud, "run," and it took neither of the girls a second to move, scrambling, tripping over the terrain.

The summoned Sheikah brandished two daggers, one which glowed a sickly green; dripping like an ooze from the walls of those old, diseased temples. She ran with the sisters, falling to the back, and lunged at the closest Wolfos, the poisoned blade slicing through fur, flesh, and whatever had started to rot beneath to give Lilith and Celadore a chance for escape.

When Celadore had managed to gain enough ground, she turned around, brought out her longsword. It gleamed in the night, freshly polished, and she ran toward the monsters, her sister Lilith screaming behind her, "No!" but she joined the Sheikah, gave a little nod, and the two went at it - blades sweeping through the air, the _whoosh whoosh_ of dancing metal, the moist _slick_ of contact.

And that was when the large bird, a crow of disproportionate size, flew down from the angry trees and set its sight on Celadore - squawking, its form narrowed, wings collapsed, ready for the kill.

The Sheikah turned around suddenly, but before she could get close enough to fend the beast off, Lilith had come running and did not stop until she was in front of Celadore; her face in anguish, tears so heavy they could be seen drip, dripping as she ran. And it was such a bad idea, and the summoned Sheikah knew all too well her fate.

The giant crow landed atop Lilith's head, pecking and thrashing wildly. The poor little girl screamed and flailed her arms wildly, and even though Celadore was stricken with fear she ran her longsword through the bird's body, the red liquid so lovely atop the shiny steel.

She knelt down before her sister's form, and stupidly touched the reddened flesh that remained there - the Sheikah's quick "don't!" was a bit too late.

No matter.

The two then finished the remaining beasts off, and with the final one vanquished Celadore could see the wispy tug on the summoned Sheikah's form - the pull that would bring her back to whence she came before. But before she could return home, she said with melancholy, "you've touched her.."

And Celadore said, "I know."

With the tainted blood absorbing into her fingertips, she knew very well her fate, but she grasped onto her sister's still body anyway, and carried her out of the woods.

The temple could wait. There was no refuge for them there anymore.

It was in the little hut that she lay Lilith down, laid her atop some pillows and covered her in a blanket. The blood coursed through her, made her think funny, feel dizzy. And in this state she went outside, blindly searching for anyone at all, anyone who could help, though she knew the truth and no help could be had.

"So do not accuse me of not knowing the hells of this world," Celadore says, grabbing the weapon from Link's grasp. She points it at him, hand shaking. "The hells of this world took my sister.. she was all I had left."

He waits for a moment, watches her and says, "then we have some things in common." He relaxes in his seated position, wounds sewn but stinging nonetheless, and continues to observe her with eyes half-open, for he could never trust a soul.

* * *

Solari returns, kneeling to the ground, reappearing inside a small chamber inside the Shrine of Nayru. She is alone here, trembling, covered in splatters of red from the monstrous crow.

She stays like this for a while, for the tremendous guilt of not protecting her summoners plagues her heart. Yet she had taken it anyway, the sister's glowing orb, the soul that had departed from the little girl's motionless body as life had escaped her.

Removing the hood from her head, she lets her hair fall free - dingy amber locks sticking to her skin - and she prays to Nayru even though the goddess has left her with silence for a long while. The stinging in her eyes is only a reminder of being alive and having a soul, a reminder she feels less than worthy to have after having collected one.

And later when she finally exists the chamber and walks the moonlit paths, she circles right around the Tree of Rutela - its glowing petals though eerily beautiful are not enough to bring any joy to the night. The slight chanting from the temple above the perimeter not enough to ease her anxiety; her fellow Sheikah's whispers penetrating her heart with foreboding.

And past the tree, the statue of Nayru, eyes of dispassionate gray leers like a beacon from across the way - probing her, deciding if she was worthy enough to kneel before her. Yet Solari gathers her courage and walks closer ever still, the only sounds are her footsteps across the stone, the distant chimes dinging, the voices.. so far away now.. so far away.

As she nears the statue's base, she looks to her left and realizes she is not alone.

There is another, praying, hair of radiant gold and braided, breath so light that none could hear.

She lowers slowly, kneeling too, and a delicate voice ushers forth from beside her,

"Was it your first?"

The silence hangs in the air after that, and following the pangs of guilt she feels swell through her gut, she responds, "It was."

She eyes the other, trailing over the soft features mixed with hardened symmetrical angles, and asks, "You are Impa's son?"

"I am."

For some reason she feels her curiosity pique, and she knows well that most would remain in silence around the young man, however the fear and the taboo situation compels her, and she continues to speak to him as if her tongue were a snake with a mind of its own. He looks to her, his eyes like the blood from that poor little girl flicker and there is a stillness in him and she wonders how someone so lovely and unsettling can exist.

"Have you ever..?" she asks.

"No," he says and after a moment, "did the summoner survive?"

She returns her focus to the stone at which she kneels upon, brings out her hands from beneath her cloak. The crimson stains still present smeared across her palms, she reaches them out and he looks knowingly, nodding insignificantly.

"There were so many of them.. I could not fend them off.." she whispers.

He tilts his head slightly, curiously. "There are always too many of them," he says.

And she wonders why he says this, for he said he had never been summoned himself, but she has heard the stories of his unmercifulness and remembers he has killed before - the blade he wielded that danced through the necks of others - saving them all from the rampage that ensued years ago. But a hero he is not, she senses, for his demeanor shows no empathy and it is almost selfish in a way.. yes, she knows of his unbridled loyalty to Nayru - everyone speaks of it - and he has loved no one so intensely but her.

A true warrior, she would argue to herself, for one who is true to the blade feels not at all.

Something she could never fathom.

"I lost my sister to a summons, in the desert wastelands. You knew her well," Solari says.

He sighs visibly, his chest rising a great deal and falling.

She moves closer to him boldly, reaching into her cloak and in her hands as she reveals them again is a blue shining orb, pulsating, flickering like candle's flame, beating like a heart.

"I offer this to you, Sheik, " she begins, "in exchange for your wisdom, your strength. I.. wish to avenge my sister's death, to make her proud of me.. for her to have died knowing I did not come into this world as a weak failure."

She remains with her palms to him, and he is motionless too but thinking very deeply, the ethereal blue casting its light across his features like a fairy's glow from so long ago.

"It is a soul," she says softly. "A soul from a little girl. I know you seek to procure souls for the goddess Nayru to help bring peace to this world, and this soul was onced housed in a particularly brave Hylian girl. I am sure Nayru would be pleased to have it."

Her eyes tremble, quivering and begging and she is insistent. "Guide me to the temple in the desert wastelands, advise me as much as you can along the way. That is all I ask."

"What do you plan to do there?" he asks.

"Find anything that remains of my sister. Find clues as to who summoned her."

Sheik stands, brushing his knees off lightly. "There is nothing left," he says quietly.

"I do not believe that," she says standing as well, and in a quick motion before turning around to go, she places the soul in his hands and with a soft, "thank you," she exits into the night.

He watches her form fade past the Phosphor Trees, and he shakes his head at the thought of the naive poor girl and her preposterous plan for revenge. Yes, he could lead her and protect her to the best of his abilities, but she has no idea what is out there.. past the fields.. she does not comprehend the horrors there, the death, the beasts, the perpetual wretchedness.

She will die, most likely.

However, his plan to set out soon for his own journey complemented her's very nicely - the timing just right -and even though most everyone knew him as somewhat stoic, cold hearted.. they were wrong. Inside he too wished for a better life.

* * *

The music he played that night in the temple hall was somber.

It was an elegy to many things - to the dead girl's soul, to the decline of the goddesses, to his own possible death.

His fingers strummed along the strings, each note plucked vibrating everlasting. He did not care who listened, he did not even know who was there. With eyes shut to the world, he played a song just for himself.

He did not trust Nayru. He believed and hoped that the terrible beings the goddesses had manifested into could be reversed, that he could fill each one with enough souls to cleanse them of the poisons that had clouded their previously good-natured ways.

He would slaughter the creatures, the lesser beings for souls. He would take the giant souls from the temple guardians, and if rubbed particularly the wrong way, he would kill a man for one too. For some reason he was chosen for this and he did not know why, did not remember when he could begin hearing Nayru's words or when the desire grew inside of him to do her bidding.

The many candles around the perimeter of the hall continued to burn and their wax continued to melt, the incense strong, cloudy smoke circled through the air and hovered on the ground. And a red-headed girl walks up to him now, sitting carefully on the ground and she closes her eyes as she listens to him play.

He senses her there, opens up his eyes, and he observes a faint smile there upon her lips.

"Don't stop," she says.

He slows his fingers, but continues, watching her carefully.

There is a fresh scar, large and across her right cheek, just below her eye and downward to her jawline. Her hair, although washed is not styled in any way. Her posture is relaxed, not elegant or poised. Her shoulders slouch and she sits with her legs crossed over one another, and she takes a deep breath that looks like one she had been holding for a long while.

"It's so nice," the girl named Malon continues and her smile fades, wetness forming beneath her eyelids. She does not feel ashamed by it though, does not wipe the tears as they fall down her cheeks. And she opens her eyes now, and her right one, the one just above the scar is reddened, blood-stained. Injured.

In a strange way, Sheik thinks this makes her appear lovely. Her bravery apparent.

And she notices him looking, and raises a hand to cover her eye. "It's terrible, I know," she says.

"Not at all," he says from beneath the white cowl he wears now across his nose and mouth, the words coming out hushed and breathy.

"I didn't realize it was so bad until I looked in a mirror," she laughs gently, awkwardly.

"There are worse ways to look," he says and adds, "at least you are alive." He reaches to his side, a small pouch fastened there, lifts the leather flap, and pulls from inside it a thin piece of parchment, longer than it is wide. He kneels on one knee beside her, places the parchment in his hand. "Would you like it to go away?" he asks.

"I.." she begins, hesitant from both his question and his close proximity. He smells of an herb she can't quite place, masculine, strong but pleasant. Pretty. Clary sage, jasmine, sandalwood. He looms a bit and she feels confused, a tingle in her thighs elicited, a little bit of fear rising in her chest. And he touches her, his left hand trailing over her forehead and down her brow, and she closes her eye in response. He continues down, and keeping his index and middle finger placed lightly over her eyelid, he uses his right hand to grip the parchment, and with a quick squeeze - a reflex so instantaneous - the paper lights up and then burns away.

"A Healing Miracle," he says, "magic that heals all wounds."

And his hand drifts away from her and she opens her eyes.

"Is it gone?" she asks.

"Of course," he says. And now, _an eye for an eye_, or so they say. "Tell me more about the man who saved you."


	3. Proficiscor

The stoned spirals reach up to the sky, just grazing the mottled clouds, the moon - white and glowing, malevolent and colossal - looms as if it may swallow up the world itself.

The castle stretches high, an ominous structure that seems as if it has eyes built into its very walls, its inner workings like a clock grinding mechanically, the tick-tock, the gears of its mutant inhabitants working, experimenting, snatching up any bodies who stray too close to its exterior.

The fields are black and sprawling, hills of scorched earth and rotted trees.

Not a soul dares to pass this way, this close to the castle, over the miles of petrification and despair, and if one ever did, they would not make it far. The once magnificent Hyrule Castle, one of sheer wonder and beauty now lay like a tumor growing in the bosom of the land.

It was once he sat perched upon a watchtower far enough out, gazed through the binoculars he kept in a satchel at his side. He stayed there for two days, scribbling notes on its infastructure, the doors, the grates, the walls. He sketched its outer perimeter, little cracks and weaknesses. Made notes on when and what patrolled the grounds.

It was the final note he had made, and when he felt satisfied with his findings, he folded up the blueprints into the leather bound book he kept with him always, along with all he had studied back at the laboratory by the lake in solitude. It was thick of paper of all sizes and textures, ink scribbled across them like a madman's alchemic ruse.

And it was this book that Celadore touches delicately whilst Link sleeps, her fingers trailing over its binding and textured skin. She carefully peruses its contents while glancing at his closed eyelids every now and again to make sure he is not aware, skimming through the crazed scribblings that adorn each parchment, gazes in confusion at the structures penned in meticulous detail.

It is like nothing she has ever seen.

The sheer wonder of the temples, the illustrations of the sages depicted in flowing black ink, lines so steady and precise she murmurs to herself how long it must have taken him. There is a plan here, one so carefully evoked, and it astounds her as she realizes she does not understand any of it at all. What are his intentions?

She watches the sleeping figure, chest rising and falling evenly, face relaxed with only slight twitches beneath the eyelids. With his eyes closed she realizes how innocent he appears, even slightly angelic, like a lost little boy - orphaned and naive to the ways of the world.

Her heart lurches at this thought. Her poor sister, not even knowing life past her twelfth year. She glances at the plague that envelopes her hand, and her eyes begin to water as she admits to herself that she will not live much longer either. She closes the book and pushes it back near his belongings, her muffled sobbing stirring his hand to her knee, and Link only watches her through heavy lids as she relieves her sorrows in silence.

* * *

The branches snap as they walk through them, Link hacking through the sturdier ones with his sword. There is a slight mist on the ground that wisps its way over the fallen trees, quiet corpses. There is no color here, no life, and all that can be heard is the cawking high above from the crows that perch themselves at the highest point on the trees that are still standing.

Celadore trips, and Link looks quickly behind him. "Keep up," he says quietly without emotion. "If I can't see you, I can't protect you."

She growls, standing up unsteadily. "I don't need your protection," she scowls, eyes glaring. Her armor is heavy, feels heavy, and it weighs her already tired body down.

He laughs, cuts through a particularly large branch that blocked their passage forward.

She scrambles beside him, points to the distance shrouded in fog.

Gasping she says, "There it is!" and they both stand together for a moment or two as they revel in the view beyond. "I knew it wasn't far," she says breathily, and Link only glimpses at her briefly, raises his eyebrows without saying a word.

The Forest Temple is like a mirage, peeking out only so often through the fog, its grey stoned exterior reminiscent of a forgotten tomb. And like a tomb it is, for littered on its grounds are bodies, remains of them. Some fresh, some not.

"Wait here," he says and he brushes past her, wading through the thickness of the air, walking slowly as to not disrupt whatever lay just beyond his senses. It tangles round his legs like swamp water, he hears the crack crack of bone beneath his boots.

It is a familiar scene. He'd been here many times before. Not this exact place, mind you, but others like it. Damp, quiet. The air so still it is like there is no air at all, the eyes watching, surrounding from just over there. Behind the tree stumps. In the gaps in the walls. He can smell it, the death. It's all around him. It always is.

Link shakes his head and stands otherwise motionless, poised defensive, alone in the meadow. Now, to call it a meadow makes it sound rather nice, which this place is not. It used to be, he thinks, long ago, but..

He can hear the snarling encircling him, sniffing him out. They stay away for now, only roaming, deciding if he is delicious enough to be worth the trouble. He takes an arrow from his quiver, places it against his bow. Shoots a well-placed arrow through the fog and into the distance. All he hears after that is a yelp and the sound of about six Wolfos running away.

And Celadore peers from behind a nearby tree, her breathing soft, eyes wide. She watches Link stand amidst the fog, how it encircles his form and he seems transparent. How he is still aside from his head turning slightly left and right. How he surveys so calmly.

His blue eyes snap to her, cutting through the haze. They are electric and it sends a ripple throughout her. It makes her feel afraid. It makes her feel curious. And all he says to her, monotone, "It's safe," and he beckons her lazily with his hand. "Come here," he says.

She steps carefully over the dead body near her, shrinking back at the smell. Pungent, the hollow eyes filled with worms. The faces in the trees as she walks past, lifeless. Little children just like her sister, encased within the very nature they once dwelled.

Once she reaches him she stands close, whispers to him, "I have not seen Lilith's soul."

Was she expecting to? Anyone nearby could have snatched it. His expression is unchanging as he glances at her and withers a bit at her close proximity.

He begins to move away from her, forward, and she follows suit. His eyes never stop moving, flickering about the meadow but nevertheless he says to her, "The large crows.."

"What about them?" she asks.

"Hmm."

"What about them?!" she demands.

"Well," he begins, sighing, "sometimes they like to take things back to their nests, and.."

She stops quickly, hits his shoulder rather hard. "Are you saying my Lilith's soul is now a trinket for the crows?!"

Link scratches his head. "Well.." _They do like shiny objects._

"Is that all you can say? Well?"

He glances at her, not amused. He nears her, grabs her shoulders tight. "Lower your voice." His eyes dart behind the girl's body he holds, quickly behind himself as well. The rustling around them nears again, her loud shouts and indifference to the situation perking the ears of the nearby canine hunters.

Celadore opens her mouth but his glance turns into a glare, mighty icy if she had ever seen one.

"I mean it," he says.

She looks down. "Where are their nests?" she asks quietly.

_Your sister's soul is long gone_, he thinks as he picks up his pace and he also wonders when he'll be rid of this girl. But an odd dream had made him keep her along, a dream he had while he slept just the other night under her care.

A shining orb in a little glass case, strung round the neck of a demon. Or a goddess, he couldn't tell.

It seduced him, manipulated his thoughts. It had lied to him, made love to him. Whispered sweet nothings before taking it all away. The white wrapping in the dream had dangled on a branch of a particularly ominous tree, gray and twisting like hands it reached up from the earth. The white wrapping had belonged to it, the demon or goddess or whatever it was, and this item in question was something he decided to seek out, for he would let nothing, malevolent fiction or truth, stand in his way. Celadore was in this dream too, and for some reason, she paved a purpose for now even it were bait of some kind. Her glowing soul could be seen, but he would be lying if he remembers it being a happy end.

The tree lay just beyond the temple in the forest, for that he could tell, and all he need do was to was push hard through its interior and whatever hell it brought and escape to the other side. He did not care about what lie inside, the creatures, they were useless to him. He had fought much worse before. The Sage in its bowels however, that was another matter. If he could not defeat her then his entire journey would be meaningless, for he might as well accept death then and there and not even bother with the rest. If he could not defeat her, then he would be weak, and weakness was something he had witnessed ages ago as a child.

Weakness was not an option.

He sits with Celadore just on the steps before the entrance's door, glancing quickly through his leather-bound book at the sketches he made, tracing along its paths with his index finger. She watches him in silence as he mutters to himself as if he is preserving the path into his short-term memory so it lingers there fresh and ready.

"This," she points and asks in a hushed voice to him, "why is this path jagged?"

He observes her for a moment, then displays the book a bit more toward her saying, "it is jagged because the hallway twists like this," and he makes a circular, winding shape with his finger in the air, "there is a mechanism which controls it, but..."

She waits for him to finish, confused but impressed.

".. we should be fine," he finishes.

Celadore stares at him, silent.

"We should be... fine?" she asks incredulously.

He returns her stare.

"Would you like to wait out here?" he asks, gesturing to the fog that swirls at the base of the steps at which they sit and outward, hiding anything that may lie in wait inside it unseen.

"Insufferable madness," she mutters, rearranging the armor on her thighs as she stands.

"Indeed," he says quietly as he stands as well with a smirk upon his face, places a hand on the knob of the entrance to the filigree door, and opens it.

* * *

"He was an outsider. Not from here nor there. He spoke little of anything at all - I do not know what brought him to me and what he had encountered before." She glances out toward the melancholy garden, the leaves fluttering in the night breeze, the little dewdrop blossoms that scatter the ground reflecting an incandescent light from the full moon above. Her arms are held tightly across her chest, her expression forlorn. "The ranch was a safehaven for him, and we offered it to him, but it was not for granted. He worked hard, kept us safe.. for a time."

Sheik rests his hand against the stone archway, leaning into her omnipresent, his red eyes searching, his voice quiet. The wind plays with his slight bangs, the skin on his face unmarked like the smoothest of velvets.

"He made me forget about the evils of the world," she began again, this time turning to face him, her large eyes quivering, afraid. She breathes heavily as if she is suffocated by the Sheikah's presence and overall looming nature. "I think it may be the only time I will experience affection from another, even if the affection he gave me was reserved and short lived.

Sheik sighs, glances emotionless to the moon, and says to her, "I do not care to hear what he was like in bed, if that is where you are headed."

Malon's mouth firms, a tight line. "Right, of course," she says, "you wish to hear what he looks like? His skills in battle? And why do you ask this, what is it you need to know that is so dire?"

He leans closer, irises searching her, darting. "If I am to do Nayru's bidding in cleansing the evils of this world, I will need more than myself to do so. And if I must trust another, then he should be the best. No?" He pauses. She watches him, waits. "So is he the best?" he asks, an odd patience now about him.

She is slient, thinking.

"Is he the best?" he asks again, slowly, hushed.

"There was a sword," she says finally, "a sword so heavy that it had lay to rust in the shed with neglect. It was one my father had made, too cumbersome to use normally - a failed experiment, shall I say?" A slight nostalgic expression crosses her features, but fades quickly as she continues, "He lifted it with ease. His grip was firm, his intent with the blade was true. It was with this contraption of a sword that he slayed the monster that killed my father, and if not with that sword, I am sure he would have done so with his bare hands."

"You speak out of affection for him?" he asks.

"No," she says, shaking her head, eyes downcast. "I speak the truth." She is quiet again for a moment, but in a meek way she says to him, "I apologize, wise Sheikah, but there is something about you that makes me nervous. You speak so freely about trust but I must ask you, how do I know that I can trust you?"

There is a slight curve to his lips as he breathes, and the wheels are turning in his brain. Yet the moment comes and goes as he says, "You trusted me to use a powerful magic to save your eye. A magic that in the wrong hands could go terribly wrong. There is always a margin for error, and yet, you let me do it. Why?"

She has no response for this, simply nods and sighs glancing back out again toward the moonlit garden. After a time she says, "He is of fair hair and fair skin, like the moon here, with eyes of pale blue. A chiseled face like in the paintings of the noble heroes of old, height taller than I and even you but not extraordinarily so. He wears greens and brown and nothing fancy at all, armor on his shoulders, mail underneath. He has a cloak with a hood which he travels with, lots of weapons stashed here and there on his person. And.. he has always liked fire. Can add it to anything, wields it like it comes from his fingertips."

"Thank you," Sheik says quickly thereafter, turning to leave without farewell.

"Can I go with you?" she asks to his back from the garden.

He stops momentarily not turning toward her and asks, "You wish to see him again?"

"It would be a lie if I said I did not," she responds.

"Childish love is no reason to embark on such a journey, " he says before leaving, "and I have enough to worry about already without having to worry about you as well. Goodnight." And he walks into the darkness of the night then, exiting the garden and back into the hallways of the temple.

He did not hear her cries of sorrow, did not hear her weeping for all she had lost and left behind.

And he did not care.

* * *

"For a place that reeks of death there are certainly quite a few live ones in here!" she says loudly, a vertical slice through a Deku Baba that had had its poisoned mouth keenly positioned to swallow her up in a single bite.

Link raises his eyebrows to her in response, slicing through another across the way, its monstrous purple head hitting the ground with a loud thud. "What were you expecting?" he asks as he sheaths his sword.

He gives her no time for a witty comeback as he continues on through the rooms and corridors, quick and with a knowledge of them like he has navigated throughout them a hundred time before. He is careful though around the corners, he is careful of the unseen, the darkness of this place seeping round and it is a tricky darkness, one which plays with the mind and is of friend to the creatures that reside here.

He lights the tip of an arrow with pyromancy, slick and it glows throughout the hallway, and he aims and sends it down the length of it like a firecracker into the sky. It crackles and soon lands, the magic imbued in it resisting extinguishment, and he and Celadore continue on, running but constantly aware and listening.

Her attacks are well-meant but weak compared to his, but she holds her own on the creatures here, realizing she is better off as a back-up counterpart to his aggressive and deadly swings. The following room is thick with poisonous cloud and he rips a bit from the length of his cloak, stops her and wraps it round her mouth, but before securing it he pops a white pill into her mouth, and as he comes behind her to tie the fabric he says, "antidote. For the poison," and she swallows.

"And the fabric?" she asks, muffled.

"To keep you quiet," he says.

She sighs loudly, her arms animatedly expressing irritation. "Really?!" she demands.

He gives her a look (don't fuck with me) and continues on, and she knows better than to get left behind.

Four hours, it had been four hours of blood and creature parts and traps coming from all directions. Their arms ached, they smelled of puss and dankness and sweat. The door before them beckoned and it was here that Link said, "I'm going alone."

She shakes her head vehemently, opens her mouth to speak but he says, "The room ahead is small and I need to focus."

He knows she wants to say she can help, and he does not doubt that she could, but as helpful as she is, she is also a distraction and as much of his life he has spent distancing himself from people he cannot say he does not care for the lives of others. So he places a hand on her shoulder and says, "I'll see you on the other side," and enters the room of the final beast.

The octagon shaped room is musty, quiet, covered in ivy and moss and the pungent smell of earth is prevalent here. He notices the tangles of branches and vines everywhere across the floor, the paintings on the walls of a forgotten path, dreary and endless. It is a medusa that beckons forth from beyond their painted canvases, snakes and leaves writhing atop a small figure of delicate stature. A little one she once was, he figures, a Kokiri, a child of the wood. Saria, the sage of the forest. And her time had come.

Her song is beautiful from the ocarina she plays, a minuet of beauty and death. Its notes play throughout the room and it stuns him like spores from a toxic plant, and he is unable to move as snakes wither from her and about his feet, twirling, sneaking up round his legs. The bites are terrible, pointed teeth into flesh, even through the layers of tough fabric around his legs! And he snarls, fights off the paralysis laden tune, his body shuddering forth inch by inch as if his muscles were attached to the slow ticking of a clock.

The tip of his arrow lights, warm and orange, and he shoots it off straight into her head. The explosion of flames dance and flicker about the room, and the screams echo and bounce off the walls. Her agony is apparent and shreds of her past self fight to break free, but they are long gone, long hidden amidst her existence now of inflicted pain and suffering.

"You aren't what you used to be!" he yells and she cannot fool him for he is not a fool. Most would have weakened at the sounds of her innocent cries, but he shattered them, revealing them for what they truly are. For what she truly is.

Something good but no longer.

It is of the repeated pyromancy and quick slashes of his blade that he reduces her to a heap on the ground, fire lighting the room around them as it burns hungrily to the foliage on the ceiling and walls. His wounds drip blood, the poison from her thrashes and bites pulsate throughout him, and as tired and broken as she he kneels beside her, arrow of flame notched and poised to her face.

The glow illuminates her, and her childlike face halts his heart.

"Why have you let this happen to you?" he asks.

"It was not for us to decide," she says.

He breathes, just seconds to releasing the arrow, but before he does she says, "You will fail, lonely hero. There may have been a time when someone such as yourself would have been useful, but what you seek now will only bring more destruction and your death as well."

He says nothing, lets the arrow go.

And in a spectacle of flames he stands wearily, grabbing her ocarina quickly - its ceramic hot, the brown paint sizzling, and he does not look back to her. He never looks back.

* * *

"We're going," he had said to her quickly through the open doorway to her bedchambers.

Solari glanced up to him quickly and nodded, grabbed the sack she had already packed and exited out into the courtyard.

The air was brisk and the sky was almost clear and for a moment she had thought to herself that everything was right.

Except that it wasn't.

Sheik had walked briskly, armored lightly but still agile looking as ever, his sheathed twin blades bounced against his thighs with each long step he took. Solari had to jog lightly to keep up with him, and as they reached the perimeter of the shrine she took one moment to take in the sight behind her, even if he did not.

The desert, he had told her, was far more than two weeks away on horseback, and horses they did not have. They would travel by foot, he had said, for the land beyond was curious and treacherous and that they would be better of without one.

"I have a few stops along the way," he had said, "but we will arrive at the desert in due course."

As long as he remembered to go there was all she had cared about, but as their direction across the fields veered northeast instead of northwest, she internally questioned if they'd even get there at all. He was a man of his word however, albeit a selfish one, and in the nights that they had stopped to rest she prayed to Nayru that he continued to honor her request.

Being ambushed at night by skeleton hordes was the least of their worries. The crows cawking at them from above, the wolfos, the keese, they were to be expected. What she didn't expect was that alarming feeling of being watched by the Great Tower, the one to the north, the cylindrical structure that loomed ever high amidst Hyrule Castle. The other problem was that night never seemed to end out here in the fields, and it was depressing and it fought to kill every ounce of hope she had.

He would wake her and say it was morning, but it was not, but it was. The darkness, he said, would aid them to travel discreetly, but it never went away, never brightened, never gave up.

And Sheik was like a predator in this lightless expanse, and anything that dared threaten them would be dead before she knew it was even there. She focused then on her healing arts, decided she would be better suited to cure them of any ailments, cast subterfuge and dark magics. While he was very skilled in these himself, none was quicker than him with the blade, and it was useless for her to try and attack an enemy that he had already slaughtered before she could even get close enough to strike it.

The village they near now is dim, old, its windmill in the far off distance creaking with age and only moving slightly when the wind chooses to touch it.

"There won't be anyone alive here," he warns her softly before they enter, "so anything you do see consider as a threat."

She casts a protection and he does the same and they sneak quickly through, the town eerily still and abandoned, fire-ravaged and decrepit. It was too close to the castle, too easy to pillage. The villagers of Kakariko stood no chance against the onslaught of what had come from the castle, their pitchforks and axes weak against the creatures of magnificent alteration. It had burned for days and days, this village, and the bodies too burned along with it - all those except for the ones who had been taken away, gagged and tied, to the dungeons underneath the castle itself.

The sky here a continuous ashen grey, the air here thick like the smoke has never cleared. The terrible fight still lingers here, the evidence of rubble, weapons, barricades, remain.

They lean together against a wall for cover, and Sheik whispers close to her ear, "there are knights here, but not the good kind. Just over there. They are very tall and their black armor is impenetrable. They carry shields as wide and high as themselves, and the swords they carry can reach a great distance."

Solari's brows furrow, her eyes wide and fearful. "How do you know this..?" she asks, her whispering voice wavering.

"But they are slow, Solari, and we are not. That is to our advantage." He gestures to a point over the building they seek cover behind and says, "we are headed that way, to the temple inside the mountain. There will be a path leading to it that is now home to spiders, large and venomous. Use what ever magic you must and always keep me in your sights, as we will be moving very quickly and we won't have time to talk."

"Knights and spiders," she repeats, taking a deep breath.

"If you are afraid of knights and spiders I worry how you shall fare along the rest of our journey," he says looking at her briefly with a hint of disappointment.

And this rattles her, this intentional jab to her ego. Her expression changes and she regards Sheik sternly. "I am not afraid," she says, low and slightly raspy.

Sheik moves to the edge of the wall, peering around it before ushering her forth. "We shall see," he says, and he disappears around its edge, Solari mustering the courage to follow.

* * *

It had been a rather quick journey to the forest that Sheik had took the night prior to collecting Solari. He planned it so the timing was precise, and he would arrive to his destination before the other even stepped foot into the meadow. He moved like the fog about the trees, a chameleon in only a suit of the darkest blues, and agile was he that not even the swamp rats or tree snakes knew he had come and gone.

He held the white wrapping tightly in his hand as he navigated, clutched it and spoke the summons aloud so he was sure it would beckon no one but him. Across the meadow he ran, past even the crows and the wolfos pack, jumped nimbly to the top of the temple from a nearby tree and scaled its rooftop to the other side. It was here that he landed to the ground sure-footed, rose up again tall and graceful, and walked slowly, ever so carefully, to the large weeping willow that had seen better days.

Its branches crawled and they resembled fingers reaching for the moon, the base large and wide twisting, its roots clawed into the earth like if it were a neck it would be choking it. At a most convenient branch he stopped, took it in his hand, tested it for strength. It was eye-level, good. Sturdy. And so the white wrapping which he had so tightly held he placed then around this branch, tying it around securely but so it looked without too much intention, and he left enough of the fabric to hang free to blow tantalizingly in the breeze.

"See you soon," he had whispered, and left before he overstayed his welcome.


	4. The Mare's Nest

White like the wisp of a ghost, a figment of days since passed. Atop a throne at the far reaches of a room, the red carpet unusually long down its unusually long expanse, candelabra's light flicker down its length, lit by a magic that never dims. The multitude of seats are empty and always are, and nothing but a slight mist pervades here curling across the floor and into the air, and this figure sits, relaxed, motionless, waiting for an audience that has yet to come.

The eyes are closed, head rested in its palm. The crown, bejeweled and beautiful but dingy with age rests upon the golden locks, and the only way you know that she is alive are by the little breaths visible as she takes them, long and calm. There is an aura which radiates about her as white as the gown she wears, and it emanates about her like the moon's glow on a foggy night.

The room is untouched, dust lingering on the floor, on the statues that line the walls. Cobwebs adorn the tiny corners of the ceiling, decorate the legs of the chairs. And the silence here is most unsettling of all, yet if you listen closely you can hear it - a soft humming barely discernable - a princess' lullaby from long ago.

Down, down the spiraling steps in this Great Tower and into the heart of the castle it is much of the same. Silence around every corridor except for the occassional metallic shuffle of armor, the soft clanking of steel boots in the distance. The roaming of the creatures here, none speaking, patrolling the hallways endlessly and without the knowledge of understanding why.

It is like the catacombs of fallen knights, Hylian nobility. Almost dead but still alive, their bodies moving but without purpose, and an anger instilled in them so deadly that should you come upon one you shall be smelt before even knowing it was to come.

It is this tale that Dianthus speaks solemnly to Celadore as he sits beneath the perished weeping willow tree, his head downcast, shoulders slumped. His pearlescent armor covers every inch of him, and it is most regal, hardly knicked or scratched. And it is of heavy materials, so heavy in fact that she wonders how he could fight wearing such armorement, nevertheless even stand up! His voice echoes through his helm, words issuing forth in a muffled and hushed way, and he moves not, almost as if his words are coming from someone who has passed from this world but the voice still lingers.

The way around the Forest Temple had been simple enough, not much there besides a few grass snakes that had attempted to lunge at her from the trees or beneath the overgrown blades, the side path small and narrow and quite hidden if she had not taken the time to search for it. Past it the pathway had opened up, revealing a courtyard and in the center of it, a large tree. She had taken her time here, walking slowly, almost admiring its somber appeal and wondering how it must have looked in its better days.

The doorway to the temple here at its back remained closed, and she felt a surge of worry for the man yet inside of its grey stoned walls. But she breathed calm, quelling her anxiety, and would wait for him here to come out alive and well, on the other side, like he had reassured her just a couple of hours or so before. She searched the trees for nests but saw none, just the dead and curling branches she had become so accustomed to seeing during her time in the woods.

It was here during her careful observations that she ate a stale piece of bread from her pack, famished and slightly light-headed she felt, and came across the odd looking knight sitting beneath the magnificent tree. The pole beside him resting on the trunk was quite long and sturdy and sharp, a mix between a lance and a thrusting sword, its hilt almost as tall as he but the blade pointed and yet sharp on each side as well.

"Hello," she had heard come from him, and it startled her at first because it was such a gentle voice. "Have you come through the temple?"

She was struck still momentarily, mid chew, but the voice was so kind that it eased her paranoia. Maintaining her distance she replied, "I ventured inside it but took the path 'round it here."

"Are you alone?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Where is your companion, then?"

"Not far," she had said.

"Ah," was all that had been heard from beneath his pearly helm.

It was quiet for a moment after that, Celadore slowly chewing, unsure, still a few paces away.

And then wistfully, he continued, "So much has changed, you'd almost believe it is an entirely different place. There are not many of us alive anymore, like you and I. Woe are the Goddesses who have brought this peril upon us." He sighed, long, drawn out. "Your companion is dealing with the Forest Sage?"

"He is probably just admiring the architecture and decor," she lied nonchalantly, her eyes narrowing.

A soft chuckle commensed from beneath the pearly helm, a slow 'ha.. ha.. ha' and a slight creak of his armor. And in a nostalgic way he then told her his name, Dianthus, and where he had come from. A narrow escape from Hyrule Castle, months and months of anguish on the fields. That he had been one of the Princess' higher guards, but that one day, he suddenly regained his desire to be more than just a catatonic figure roaming the halls near the doorway to her chambers.

"So you have seen the Princess?" she asks of him now, still a length away but now sitting amidst the dead, itchy grass.

"Oh, yes," he breathes.

"How did you manage to escape?"

But before he can reply, the large back doors of the Forest Temple swing open, and a quite sweaty and slightly charred Link emerges, standing still in the doorway as the light from the outdoors penetrates his vision. He shields his eyes with his forearm, hisses slightly at the brightness, rests his other arm against the stone doorframe to balance himself. His legs look as if they are about to give way, and there is a slime which covers parts of his face, chest and arms, greenish black and oily. There is blood on his legs, gashes across his pants where it appears something had almost whipped him, slicing through the fabric and skin underneath.

Celadore stands and rushes to him, lending an arm and shoulder to help his stance.

"I just patched you up," she says, eyeing him.

He glances at her from between the light disheveled locks that stick to his forehead, his blue eyes weary and says, "Just a scratch," a slight smile just then that fades as quickly as it had come.

"What happened to you?" she asks.

He only shrugs, his head falling slightly forward. "I will be fine, just need," and he starts to move forward, "to sit down for a moment." There is a flash of youth in his eyes as they falter, wavering like an uncertain boy from years ago.

And when he and Celadore look up to face the courtyard, he notices the pearly knight, standing now beneath the weeping willow tree. He moves not and Link mouths to Celadore, his eyes roaming her face, "who is that?" without saying it aloud.

"He.." she begins but is interrupted..

"Flame Wielder," Dianthus bellows in an oddly kind way, his voice louder but still interlaced with politeness. The lance is in his hand, positioned vertical, its tip facing the sky.

Link whispers to Celadore, his mouth near her left ear, "get the flask of potion and a poison antidote from my satchel quickly, please."

She nods but appears flustered, her amber eyes flickering nervously. She searches his left side finding the brown leather there as he leans against her, lifts the flap and slips her hand inside, a bit of rosy hue forming on her cheeks as she feels around the satchel's interior. She emerges with the flask and the brown envelope of pills, hands it to him and in seconds he downs the potion and pops the antidote in his mouth.

He nods to her briefly, a thank you in his own way, and removes himself from her care, trudging down the stone steps to the courtyard, rotating his right shoulder once, twice, cracking his neck from left to right. He crosses the area of perished grass with resolute, nears the pearly knight with his held held high even though the blood still creeps down his calves.

He says nothing as he stands no more than three feet away from the other, takes a deep breath, long, releases it slowly.

"And you are?" Link asks.

"A hero who has come before."

"And what have you been doing since then? Hyrule is in shambles. Everyone is dead. The towns are in ruin." He gestures around him to the sickened landscape before continuing, "what kind of hero -"

"and what kind of hero are you, then? Slaying the Forest Sage?" he interrupts.

"Have been waiting for me?"

"Yes and no," Dianthus replies.

"Why?"

The pearly knight positions his lance forward, its tip just inches from Link's face. "Our paths have crossed, and I am merely taking advantage of it."

"You wish to kill me?"

Dianthus is silent for a moment. "Not exactly, but if that is how it ends, so be it."

The clash of their weapons happens suddenly. Dianthus aggresive, Link reacting. The blow is strong and Link can feel it ripple throughout his arms as he holds his sword poised defensive. The ratio of energy here quite favoring Dianthus, as the blood continues to seep from the other's legs and the battle from just before he was part of still sapping whatever resistance he could muster. The potion's effects are short-lived and he can feel it tapering off and as he notices this a warning of anxiety pangs in his chest.

Celadore unsheaths her sword, steps closer. "How equal is a fight between men when one has been resting underneath a tree all day and the other just returned from battle?" she accuses. "Is there no honor to this fight, Dianthus of the Great Tower?!"

_Clang!_, the metallic strike of weapon against weapon.

The dead grass and solid earth are quite uncomfortable as Link falls upon it, knocking the breath straight out from his lungs upon impact. His body seizes and his features grimace and he knows he must move, _must move_ before he is impaled through the heart. Yet every movement is like time in slow motion, the falling of sand in an hourglass, and Celadore decides she cannot wait for the sharpened pole to meet its end into the chest of her companion.

She is running now, swift and from behind the pearly knight. She is confident. However just as she raises her broadsword, Dianthus turns around quick and brings his lance with him, up and then down through the air. Through the armor adorning her left arm, through the mail and skin underneath, and lastly through bone until its entirety falls to the ground.

Her screams echo throughout the courtyard. Screams of anguish, excrutiating pain, sadness, terror. In Dianthus' side Link's sword stabs its tip, an opening between armor, thin and weak. He doubles back in surprise, faces him while snarling inside that pearlescent helmet, muffled, slight disbelief. As Link twists the sword in the stranger's flesh, he peers around the figure, eye on Celadore and what had become of her.

She lay rocking, holding the stump of upper arm still belonging to her whilst the rest remains beside her amidst the earth. They would need to take care of the bleeding quickly.

A slick manuever on Dianthus' part to rid himself of the blade to his side and a well-placed kick to Link's back sends him plummeting once again, face forward, and he meets Celadore on the ground. They make eye contact. Things aren't looking so good. _That_ they both agreed without saying. And slowly now she reveals something in her hand, a white wrapping of linen or mueslin, and she asks his opinion of using it with this gesture alone and no words at all.

His breathing is deep, slow. The soil vibrates with each step he can feel Dianthus taking behind him, and all he can muster out is, "where did you..?"

And she whispers, "in the tree. The weeping willow."

His eyes look unsure but Link nods anyway, briefly, and that's all it takes for Celadore to squeeze the fabric and summon its owner into their existence.

* * *

Stealth was working for a time in the village with Sheik and Solari navigating its corners amidst the shadows. The skeletal archers among the rooftops broke their cover however, when one shot a well-aimed arrow almost directly into Solari's shoulder. It landed into the rotten wood planks of the building behind them, and they both shared a look that read something like, 'let's get the hell out of here,' before retreating around to the building's other side.

Sheik brandishes the dual daggers from his thighs and takes off running and she has no other choice but to follow suit. It is all well and good and it seems like they have cover for now but the fact that it appears as if Sheik is disappearing halts her in her tracks.

"Did you leave a summon?" she asks a bit frantically.

He feels it, a strange sensation of being pulled out from your skin. He glances at his hands and they are becoming translucent. Interesting, indeed.

"I did," he said.

"Wh- why?"

"The timing is poor, I apologize. I.. thought we would be on the mountain paths by now."

"Where is it taking you?!"

"The temple in the forest."

"The forest? When did you have time to go to the forest?!"

"I will return soon."

Solari opens her mouth again but no words come forth. It seems as if she is at a loss for words.

He nears her, appears to deliberate on how to console her. He does not know how. So he looks deeply into her eyes and says, "I know you do not trust me, Solari. You probably even dislike me?"

She says nothing. He continues with a sigh. "You would not be the first. You may question my motives, my morals, my very character if you feel so inclined, but I leave you now with the full intent on returning to aid you in your personal journey. However, please realize I have a journey of my own, the beginnings of which are calling me now."

And as he disappears from her sight she asks of him, "what shall I do in the meantime?" It is not safe here.

"Make your sister proud," he answers and all she if left with is vacant space.

* * *

A downward thrust through the air struck, defended by a mere dagger.

Dianthus reels in disbelief at the figure and its weapon that had seemed to materialize from nowhere. He snarls. "Bastard Sheikah! Go home to your shadows and hide with the rest of your cowardly lot!"

A simple laugh from beneath the cowl, one full of mirth and disdain is heard but nothing else as the elegant form of the Sheikah arcs back and then forward with momentum, small blade against the mighty lance pushing with supernatural strength, until Dianthus is knocked back, struggling to gain traction with his heavy pearlescent boots.

With this opportunity the summoned Sheikah looks to his left, eyes wide with the sight of the two figures against the dirt, a female with arm severed and a male bleeding from the legs and mouth. Had this massive knight rendered them so defenseless? Hmm. The female, possibly. Unfortunate parry on her part, most likely. The male is tired. Wounds on his legs that resemble whip lashings. Blood on his face from a forceful impact to the ground.

He throws a potion to Link who reacts as quickly as possible, downing it and moving closer to Celadore, at which he assess her bleeding and breathing.

"I'm as fine as I can be, considering," Celadore comments.

"Keep it raised," Link says.

"Show 'em what you've got," she says, her head motioning toward the fight ensuing nearby.

The potion's immediate effects have him temporarily re-energized, and he stands somewhat sloppily and runs toward the two engaged in combat. A nice strafe puts him behind the pearly knight at which he kicks straight in the back, sending Dianthus staggering for proper footing.

"Nice of you to join me," the Sheikah quips.

"Thanks for the potion," Link says, a wary expression on his features.

"I'm only here until the fight is over or you two perish, so let's try to avoid the latter."

"Sounds good to me."

A slick swoosh of tiny sharpened needles fly through the air from the Sheikah's fingers, some of which are extremely well-aimed and manage to slip in through the tiny slot on the helmet near Dianthus' eyes. His scream, like a garbled "yaaargh!" echoes at which one could not really blame him. He would not be able to see ever again.

"An arm for an eye!" yells Celadore as happily and with as much energy as possible, considering.

With Dianthus' hands crawling over his helmet in pain and confusion, trying to both remove the needles and his helmet at which neither is happening, Link tosses a tiny oil flask onto the pearly knight's panicking form and brings out his bow and arrow. Its tip lights up a majestic red and orange, the flame dancing, crackling in the air.

The glow reflects itself onto the Sheikah's eyes, and underneath his cowl is a slight, growing smile that none can see.

Link's form is beautiful as he stands poised, and in one fluid motion he aims and sends the arrow flying directly to Dianthus' side into a tiny sliver of exposed mail.

The flames are lovely.

The Sheikah watches for a moment, standing perfectly still. The heat rushes forth from the ground, makes the air look like its rippling.

Link's breathing is rushed, shallow.

_"He is of fair hair and fair skin, like the moon here, with eyes of pale blue. A chiseled face like in the paintings of the noble heroes of old, height taller than I and even you but not extraordinarily so. He wears greens and brown and nothing fancy at all, armor on his shoulders, mail underneath. He has a cloak with a hood which he travels with, lots of weapons stashed here and there on his person. And.. he has always liked fire. Can add it to anything, wields it like it comes from his fingertips."_

Malon's dialogue repeats itself in Sheik's mind as the fires engulf the pearly knight.

He watches the other of fair hair and fair skin and with eyes of pale blue run forward, unafraid of the flames he created, and into them, jabbing the knight's side once more with his sword that sends its victim onto the ground.

Link retreats quickly. The transparent effect materializes around the Sheikah, its pull once again beckoning him to whence he came, and Link walks toward him slowly, sheathing his bow but with sword still in hand.

"Leaving so soon?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm.

The Sheikah remains still, eyeing Link oddly. "He will be back," he says softly, gesturing to the body on the ground engulfed in flames. "It will take more than blindness and fire to defeat what come from the Great Tower."

"And you?"

"..and I?"

"Will _you_ be back?"

Silence.

Link continues. "I find it rather odd that there was a white wrapping on a tree _after_ a dangerous temple and not before it or inside of it. Surely if one could make it out alive to the usually peaceful courtyard on its other side, there would be no need for aid?"

"Certainly the need for aid was clear as I was summoned for it."

"For this pearly knight, one who waited specifically for me?"

".. are you typically this ungrateful?"

Link pauses but recoups with "Thank you for aiding your strength..." and he ends there for he does not know the other's name.

"Good luck," the Sheikah's voice faintly says as his body fades more and more and after that he is gone.

The space at which he once was is empty now, and beyond it he sees Celadore in the distance and he runs to her, falling to his knees before her form. The two take their time now and he gives her what care he can amidst the scent of burning flesh and its aftermath.


End file.
